spending money is an emotional affair

The last one of three posts I composed for my apartmenttherapy.com application. I wrote this shortly before Thanksgiving, hence the Black Friday reference at the end.

I once had an unemployed boyfriend (ok, more than once - I don’t know why I attract this kind of guy) who asked me why I was so generous with buying lattes or lunch and so stingy about “loosie money” (cash for loose cigarettes sold in bodegas (and one more explanation for non-New Yorkers: bodegas are small convenience stores)). I thought about that for a bit and came to the conclusion that how I feel about spending money on a particular thing is linked to my emotions toward said thing. This I can track back all the way to my early twenties when I had plenty of roommates or friends who constantly borrowed cash from me, even though, I myself could barely make my bills then. In fact, at one point, I was mopping the building stairs to get a discount on my rent from the owner who also lived on the first floor. But, back then, I couldn’t say no to anyone. I was so generous that I was taken advantage of. One neighbor/friend even went so far as to carry this bad habit on to my possessions. She kept borrowing and never returning household items such as lotions, shampoo, our fan, and, of course, food. Not to mention the emergency cash she asked for to help pay her rent. Meanwhile, she apparently had money to do her hair and nails every week. Something didn’t compute. Today, I would say - she was seriously broke but spending on her beauty made her feel good so it seemed like an acceptable expense. I have seen this behavior in other friends always complaining about money. Apparently, they can’t make rent or bills, but somehow they still always find the cash to buy take-out food, electronic devices, or do their hair and nails. Maybe they just don’t see this discrepancy or they are just bad with money. 

I learned my lesson early. When I was a teenager without any credit cards at my disposal, yet, I watched how older friends of mine completely and utterly drowned themselves in debt and then struggled with the consequences. I learned a priori, so-to-say and I have never indebted myself ever, except when I signed up for a mortgage to buy my apartment in my mid-twenties. I actually never wanted an apartment or house of my own because I thought it would tie me down and hamper my freedom to travel the world for months at a time but a) having kids changes your priorities and b) the American Dream has infiltrated my mind.

I stopped giving money to everyone when I realized that they earned exactly the same (and, some, even more) than I did. I still lend (from my savings) to selected friends who I don’t have to remind to pay back but I’ve scaled it down. And, now, that I have quit my job it will probably soon be me who is borrowing money. It will be a whole new world! And, it’s most likely going to drive me crazy. I can’t stand being in someone’s debt, so I’ll probably end up homeless before I ask anyone for cash. Except for my grandmother, but, I hesitate because I feel like, as an adult, I really shouldn’t be asking my elders for financial support, although, they have certainly helped in the past … i.e. while I was already qualifying as _adult_.

I still find myself in this situation of emotional spending, just as probably all of my friends. Last week, for example, I did not want to spend the extra seven dollars to get on the ice with my children at the skating rink but today I was considering spending $15 (!) on a salsa class. That’s just not permissible but if I weren’t so aware about this topic at the moment (having no income and all), I would probably spend it without thinking twice because I justify it as “personal enrichment” aka “therapy” and as such it qualifies as a health care expense and, well, that is just a necessary evil just like grocery shopping or the utility bill.

And apropos evil spending, can somebody please explain Black Friday to me? I understand, people get discounts but they are still spending loads of money, they probably wouldn’t be spending if they weren’t lured in by the sales. Ok, I’m making assumptions. Anyway, I can’t relate to the willingness to stand in line for hours or camp out in front of a store just to be the first to shop. Maybe it’s because I am not a big fan of shopping. And now, that I have seen the youTube footage of shoppers getting into fist, knife, taser, and gun fights with each other - over merchandise that they have to _buy_ (!) for Pete’s sake - I am certainly going to make sure I stay away from big stores on all the major shopping holidays. I suppose, these sad incidents are just proving my point: Spending money is an emotional affair.

conquering laundry mountain

Another one of my apartment therapy application posts. Note how I don't mention my kids' name in these posts because it just didn't seem fitting.

Today was designated laundry day. Designated by me at the sight of my last pair of socks this morning. Until I quit my job (i.e. secure income) I long ago relieved myself of the guilt I fostered for dropping off my laundry to have it done for me. It was my then-husband, actually, who convinced me. He did it without much effort. We took turns doing the laundry and every time it was his turn he would just go use a drop-off service, paying out of his own pocket and talking about opportunity costs, which I just called laziness, since he wasn’t really being productive in this so-called “lost time” of washing clothes. I, however, was always busy with something of actual relevance and dedicating three or four hours to this mind-numbing activity that just kept coming back at me - kinda like the dishes (which I hate, too) - seemed like motivation enough to consider a change of my modus operandi. 

Unfortunately, with the removal of a steady salary comes the removal of certain luxuries and, so, after ten years, I find myself back in the struggle that is overcoming laundry day.

A friend suggested that my girls are now old enough to help with this task and that she taught her boys to operate a washing machine right around that time. My kids are nine and eleven years old. I agreed, without much reservation, to have her show them the ropes. They learned all about delicates, which I never do, as well as proper separation, which I don’t do either. For about two laundry days they were enthusiastic helpers but now it is just another chore I need to impose on them, accompanied by ultimatums, threats, and zero consequences for non-adherence to my rules. Once at the dinner table, my first daughter, then 9 years old, actually cynically commented on the fact that I can’t punish them. To a stern “Behave yourself or you will lose privileges!” she responded monotonously and unimpressed: “What is it that you’re going to take away exactly? You already don’t let us watch T.V., we can’t have a DSI or any game consoles, ..we’ve got nothing you can use for leverage.” This is when I decided to loosen my reigns a bit and now they’re iPad addicts like all the other kids in their respective schools. Unfortunately, I didn’t successfully carry out this strategy, for I neglected to enforce confiscation of said privileges as a means of parental leverage. Turns out, I’m as laissez-faire as my parents were. 

The most frustrating part of doing the laundry is when the kids collect their neatly folded piles - because now it is me who is doing it all again (I’m stupid) - and then I later find these piles stuffed into all corners of their room because they couldn’t fit anything into their overstuffed, messy dresser drawers. All my hard work for nothing! Well, except that we have freshly washed clothes, which - by the way - they sometimes throw back into the hamper because they are too lazy to clean up their room properly (i.e. fold and find a place for clothes that have somehow ended up on the floor somewhere.). 

I can’t wait until I have some sort of income again.  Dropping off laundry is definitely on the top of my luxuries list. 

say what? — failed attempts of raising bilingual children

I submitted this piece for an application to write for apartmentherapy.com ... but, since I never heard back, I suppose, it's ok to post here now. It was written in a rush. I had to compose three blog entries within two days. I think, my writing style was a bit too rough for them. I love apartment therapy ... but everything seems very clean and vanilla. I am probably more fit for mommyish.com or something more cynical. But, now I'm doing my own thing anyway. This way I can write however and whatever I want. The only draw-back: nobody is paying me. :p [time to think about Google Adsense]

I was born and raised in Austria. When my daughters were born - here in New York City - I dutifully visited my embassy to apply for their Austrian citizenship but I miserably failed when it came to teaching them German. I emigrated to the U.S. when I was 21 (maybe I was 22 .. I’m too lazy to do the math right now .. or ever. If an estimated number is acceptable, I will always shy away from straining my non-existent head-calculation brain cells… is that an English word? Head-calculation? [What’s the noun for ‘doing math in your head’?])

.. I’m in the process of completely contradicting the point I was going to make - about how my assimilation to this country and immersion in its language hindered my later ability to speak German to my children. And now, I can’t even think of the simplest English words. — Let’s pretend, I didn’t say that and move on.

I had made a steadfast resolution for myself that I was going to speak German to my kids and German only, for this is how a bilingual upbringing is supposedly most effective. Unfortunately, there was nothing steadfast about my resolution besides the intent itself.

The problem was that, when I finally had children, I hadn’t spoken German in so long that I kept forgetting to switch to my native tongue when addressing the little ones, except, that is, at times of emotional distress. So now, all my kids understand is a lot of angry German.

I’m in awe about how friends of mine have pulled this off. Just as much as I’m amazed how they get their kids to practice their instruments or finish their homework without struggle or tears. These children are speaking Spanish, Italian, French, German and all of them live in New York City, just as we do. Why can’t I get a handle on this? 

In a desperate attempt, I’ve even tried putting them in front of the computer with Rosetta Stone, however, unless I sit with them, they just guess which one of the four images matches the word the recording is sounding out. Especially my younger one (9) will try to trick the system with all her might, not understanding that she is skipping the learning process, which will make it impossible to accomplish the follow-up lessons. I suppose, this is the reason why she continues to repeat the first lesson over and over again. 

So, in short - like everything - these kids need my precious time. Turns out, they read better, do homework better, and - in general - learn better if I monitor and guide them every step of the way. But - who has time for that? And if you have the time, who has the patience? I guess, you can call me a Rabenmutter - literally translated as "raven mother" (German expression for a bad mom) - but I don’t want to or often can’t give up any of my evening. Occasionally, I’ll have a wholesome moment or even a day on which I offer all this time but, mostly, I tell them to go figure it out on their own. 

Nobody helped me with homework when I was a kid, nobody asked me to practice the piano, nobody encouraged me to dive into my passions. I just did all that on my own - always. I figured it out. Why is it that we have to hold our children’s hands for everything these days? I guess, it’s because our whole urban society is structured that way. Those kids have no unsupervised, independent time to explore the world around them on their own. Maybe this lack of freedom alone contributes to an atrophy of self-initiative or autodidactic skills in our kids. [Note: I am not basing this information on any studies so it may just be my kids who lack initiative when it comes to self-development.]

Sometimes, I remember to remind myself that they are only going to be young for a short period of time and that this is my chance to build a lasting relationship with them. They already know they are never allowed to put me in a nursing home but I want them to adhere to that request not out of duty but out of love. So, I better un-raven up and offer them more of my time, for it’s the best thing I can probably give to them.

Hmm — I suppose, I can’t get away with this on Christmas, can I? A coupon book with increments of mommy’s time. It’ll be the saddest, most audacious present ever and if they keep it, they’ll probably be struck by sheer disbelief, when they stumble over it in a box of old childhood mementos 15 years from now, possibly triggering a break-through moment they can later discuss in therapy.

cute little liars

Ok – so, yes .. kids lie. It’s a natural fact. Although, I would say – depending on the age – they are presenting us with ‘an altered version of the truth they would prefer’. Especially, the younger ones love to tell those fantastic stories of what they did and whom they saw and whatnot. It’s cute. It’s not so cute with my nine-year-old anymore but I have been letting her get away with it just because I don’t want to cause a break-down on her part, because, parents will know, calling those little munchkins on their BS creates a reverse effect. Instead of remorse or apologies, we get anger, tears, or arguments.

Yesterday, I finally decided to put my foot down. I had just picked her up from her after school program and she cheerily reminded me about all this candy we have to buy for the ginger bread house they were going to build at school tomorrow. I don’t know why I decided to pick the battle at this moment. Maybe she was entirely too happy to match my grumpy mood. I don’t know, but, the mommy monster came out and I basically ended up making her cry and tell me she doesn’t want to go shopping for candy anymore. With quite a bit of attitude, I expressed my disdain for her apparent twisting of the truth, for it could not possibly be so that out of a list of 10 ingredients she has to bring eight. What were the other children bringing? It seemed like an excuse to buy a whole lot of candy for herself. Ach – it was awful. I was awful. I ended up taking her to the store anywhere and we bought just a few items, which she settled for but my moment of truth came the next day, after I had already dropped her off at school. I was at home, preparing my coffee when I glanced at the original letter from her teachers, announcing the ginger bread house building party. And - I cannot adequately express the guilt that shot through me when I read the first paragraph, which I had only flown over when Nini first handed me the letter. It said that EACH child should bring the following: … and then below were all the ingredients listed for the ginger bread house. I almost started crying. I felt so bad. Nini had NOT been lying to me. She really was supposed to bring all the items on the list, I just hadn’t read the letter properly.

I ran out that house faster than ever, jumped into my car, tried not slip on the icy roads, raced to the store to buy the rest of the ingredients and drove all the way back to her school to deliver them. And you know what Nini told me, hopping up with joy to hug me when I handed her the bags with an apology? -- “Mommy, you’re the best!!” -- No, I’m not, is what I wanted to respond. I suck! I was awful to you. … but instead, I gave her a big, fat smooch and walked out of the school with a clean conscience, thanking God for letting me make up for this one.

Parenting is full of guilt for me these days. Am I being too strict, am I too lenient, was I too mean, did I just provide her with a bad memory to carry around with her for the rest of her life? Ultimately, it probably doesn't matter, for they are going to be what they're going to be. We can't really control who they are and what they'll become.

There is poem I once read. I remember it often as I go through the struggles of raising kids.

"If I Had My Child to Raise Over Again"

by Diane Loomans

If I had my child to raise all over again,


I'd build self esteem first, and the house later.


I'd fingerpaint more, and point the finger less.


I would do less correcting and more connecting.


I'd take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.


I would care to know less and know to care more.


I'd take more hikes and fly more kites.


I'd stop playing serious, and seriously play.


I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars.


I'd do more hugging and less tugging.


I'd see the oak tree in the acorn more often.


I would be firm less often, and affirm much more.


I'd model less about the love of power,
 And more about the power of love.

i'm not reading comments (maybe)

ok - so .. another blog. I don't know why I don't just tack my writings onto each other and instead decide to divide my traffic this way. i suppose, i don't really care about traffic too much and more about remaining anonymous. of course, with blogger (aka google) linking your blog to your name and google profile, that isn't really going to work. so, i'm out. judge me if you want. i write pretty bluntly, i often rant, i try to be funny (but occasionally people don't get it .. or i'm just not funny); sometimes i change my mind, sometimes i reread an entry months later and realize i sound pretentious - you may notice this right away, but please cut me some slack and don't destroy my spirit with mean comments. actually, i should probably not read the comments to prevent spirit destruction and termination of blogging drive. oh, and in case you haven't noticed -- i write as i think, and it's (mostly) all lower case (not always) -- which may not produce the most elegant syntax but it's how i have to do it to make it flow (here). and i love parentheses (it's for my after-thoughts .. or concurrent thoughts, rather).

i will try to blog at least twice a week. so book-mark me if you don't want to lose me in the blogosphere.

why do i write?

because i must.  i have several blogs (started in 2005) but they are all disconnected (or most of them are) because they represent such different sides of me, which i fear may alienate people. especially, if the person who reads this knows me. of course, one thing i have learned is that we _all_ have our different sides. some have darker or more depressing secrets than others but (especially as one gets older) nobody just has a happy dandy life without any interference of drama, sadness, or insanity.

anyway, ... this blog will just be about my daily parenting struggles. it is a continuation of a blog i kept on marriage and the challenges of raising small children with a full-time job and an inert husband. i was married for 12 years. we divorced when my daughters were 5 and 3 years old after which i entered a relationship with a man who became my best friend. he turned out to be deeply troubled but he was my soul-mate and in my time with him i learned the meaning of true unconditional love. i loved him _unconditionally_ and when he died, at age 36, in the beginning of this year, I think he knew that.